MISSIONARY WORK—TEACHING POLYGAMY.  
I now entered upon a new phase of my missionary life; the Elders assured me that it was my duty to teach polygamy to the women of Switzerland.
Hitherto, although I had suffered much from poverty and privation, my work as a missionary had been very pleasant. I believed with my whole heart all that I taught, and my best wishes for the people around me were that they might become altogether such as I was, except in my sufferings.
Now, however, all this was changed. It was no longer salvation through faith in Christ, or repentance, or baptism; it was no longer love and peace for this world, and the promise of everlasting joy in the world to come, that I was called upon to teach. My task hitherto had been a labour of love; now it was to be a weary work of pain. How could I teach the sisters, the affection of whose guileless hearts I had won to myself—how could I teach them that which my own heart abhorred, a doctrine which I hated with my whole soul!
How I strove against my rebellious nature! how I battled with myself! That God had sent the Revelation I never questioned, and all rebellion to His will I knew must be sinful. I had no thought of evading the responsibility; my heart must be subdued. It might be subdued; it might be crushed and broken; but I could never again, I felt, be truly happy. I tried to reason with myself, and to persuade myself that it was I who was to blame and not the Revelation. If the Lord required me to submit, it must be for some good purpose; and I must not refuse the cross that He called upon me to bear. Sometimes for a few moments something would attract my attention and divert my thoughts; but the terrible reality—polygamy, refused to be ignored, and I felt all the more bitterly afterwards. I never was happy, for life had lost its charm to me. Ere I slept at night one dreadful thought was haunting my pillow—it disturbed my very dreams; and when I awoke in the morning, it was with[77] a feverish apprehension of coming evil hanging over me. All through the long, weary day it haunted my footsteps like a spectre; and like a fearful blight that had fallen upon me, it seemed to be withering my soul. One thought was ever present in my mind—that thought, polygamy!
It can be no wonder that I lost all interest in life, and that I should almost wish to die rather than live that life of degradation which I dreaded would be mine. But death flies from those who woo her; the wretched, the weary, the hopeless, they find her not. I felt that there was no rest for me. My only comfort was in my children; no revelation, I felt, could change their relationship to me. But over my little daughter Clara I mourned, for I thought if this revelation were acted upon by the Saints, as doubtless it would be, she would some day be called upon to suffer as I did. How little did I then, however, anticipate in what way my fears would be realized! My Clara became the daughter-in-law of Brigham Young, having married his eldest son, Joseph A. Young.
I am afraid at that time I was somewhat of a trial to my husband, for my heart was not yet quite subdued. I grew impatient at the wrong which I felt had been done to me, and I often said bitter things against the Prophet of the Lord and all his sex, including my husband, who was then, and for years after, a devoted Mormon, and was quite horrified at what I said. He often told me that I was a great hindrance to him, and that it was impossible for any one who lived with me to enjoy the Spirit of God—and I was afraid that he only spoke the truth.
Then I repented, and sought to chasten myself; and I fasted and prayed, and asked forgiveness of God and my husband. But even when most subdued I was as unhappy as ever, and some one was sure to say something which reminded me of my trouble; and whenever the elders came to the house they were sure to discuss the one painful topic. Then my indignant feelings all came back again, and I felt the spirit of rebellion stirring within me. I could not help it, for I felt that woman’s nature itself was insulted by the degrading doctrine, and any mention of it excited my anger.
My husband and the Elders had anticipated that I would not readily submit, and they bore with me as patiently as they could, losing no opportunity of strengthening me in the faith, ever keeping before me the obligation that rested upon me in particular to explain the doctrine to the Swiss sisters. They knew very well that nothing tends more to confirm the faith[78] of the wavering than setting them to teach others. Brigham Young has always acted on this principle, and whenever any of the brethren have evinced signs of doubt or disaffection they have been at once despatched on a mission. Their efforts to convert others established their own faith.
Among the Swiss we had never spoken on polygamy or any kindred subject, and we were therefore spared the humiliation which the British Elders experienced in having to retract their own teachings. Nevertheless, Mr. Stenhouse and the other Elders felt great anxiety as to how the new doctrine would be received. My husband did not at once openly tell them that such a Revelation had been sent from Zion; but whenever an opportunity presented he took them aside singly, and spoke to them about the ancient patriarchs who practised polygamy; and so great was his influence with the converts that he soon won them over to the new teaching, and made them feel that they would not be justified in rejecting the Revelation. Many of the Swiss Saints before their conversion had been more Socialists than Christians, and they probably thought that this change in the marriage institution was a sign of advancing intellectual supremacy; but their wives were very far from sharing these opinions with them.
After many days and nights of prayer and fasting I prepared myself for my work. To a certain extent I had brought my own self under control—or I thought I had; and I almost felt anxious to begin, so that I might get over the painful scenes which I fully anticipated. It was agreed that Madame Balif, of whom I have already spoken as being rather sceptical when my child recovered from her critical condition, should be the first to whom the intelligence should be imparted, for it was thought that if she accepted this Revelation without much difficulty, the other sisters would be more easily won over. She was a well educated and intelligent woman, and had seen a good deal of the world. She had met her husband while travelling in Russia, had married him, and they had returned to their native land. She was in every respect a lady, but she was a spoilt child, and had her whims; and she possessed a great influence over the minds of the other sisters. On this account it was that she was selected as the victim to whom should be first imparted the mysteries of the Revelation, for it was thought that whatever reception she might give to polygamy, her views would greatly influence the conduct of the rest.
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As I before mentioned, Madame Balif and her husband were models of affection to one another, and it seemed to me quite a sin that I should introduce into such a household a doctrine which could only produce disunion and misery. I had, however, schooled my heart to what I thought was my duty, and I strove to smother the rebellion rising within me. But, after all, it seemed to me hardly fair that I should be selected for this painful task. These husbands had not courage enough, or were ashamed, to tell their own wives about this wonderful Revelation; and so I, a weak woman, hating in my heart the doctrine as much as a woman could hate—I was chosen to introduce this pleasant subject, and to persuade those I loved to their own ruin. I had had it all fully explained to me, and I thoroughly understood the beauties of the system in the sight of the elders, and what they considered the strong points in the Revelation;—but it is miserable work to try to convince others of a thing that you yourself detest.
One day, quite unexpectedly to her, they had told Madame Balif that a new Revelation had been sent from Zion, and that I would explain it to her; then Monsieur Balif left the house, and remained absent until the wife whom he so devotedly loved should have heard this new thing.
Madame Balif came down stairs singing, in her usual gay spirits, little expecting what she was going to hear; and when she came to me I felt so unfitted for my task that I dared not look her straight in the face, although she was my dearest friend, and I had such an affection for her. I stood there, pale and trembling, and she thought that I was not well. I was not indeed well; I was sick at heart. Never before had the face of a friend been so unwelcome.
She asked me what it was that I had to tell her; and when I hesitatingly denied having wanted to speak to her at all, she said she knew there must be something, as her husband had told her so.
I hesitated still; but at last found courage, and told her all. It was a cruel task to impose upon me. Day after day I had observed her and her husband, I had noticed their deep affection; had seen her watching at the window for his return; and he would come with a little offering of choice fruit or flowers; and I thought no woman could be happier than Madame Balif. And now for me to so cruelly awaken them from their dream of bliss!
She sat and listened eagerly as I told my story; and when at length she began to understand what was meant by it, she[80] thought that I must be playing some unseasonable joke upon her, and showed as much in her countenance. But when she saw that I really was in earnest, she sprang up, and cried out, “Oh, my God! what a beastly religion! How dared your husband and you come to us Swiss with such a religion as that?” My eyes sank before her as she turned on me with mingled rage and disgust, as if she would wither me with her contemptuous looks. I felt as humbled as if I myself had been the author of the Revelation.
“And does my Serge believe this?” she cried.
I assured her that he did believe it, and she paced the room, to and fro, as if she would go crazy; my heart ached for her. She gave way to a perfect storm of rage, and then sobbed and cried like a child who had lost its mother. I was silent, for I knew how she must feel, and I felt that she would be relieved by tears. I had gone through the trial all alone, without one word from a woman’s heart that could reach my own. And I tried to comfort her. I remembered how I had felt myself, and I believed that thus it was now with her. In an instant, when I first realized that polygamy had anything to do with me, just as I have heard it said of dying men, all my past life rushed to my remembrance, and every word or deed of love therein, stood out in brightest reality. Thus I doubted not it was with my friend. Every tender word which her husband had ever uttered; every loving deed he had ever done, came to her recollection with a ten-fold dearness as she realized the horrors which awaited her in the future.
How little did we either of us imagine the story she would afterwards tell me in Utah!
I tried to soothe her, and she threw her arms passionately round me, and pressed me to her throbbing heart, and wept again. She thought of her husband and her little girls. But with all her fears she dreamed not how miserable was the life before her in poverty and polygamy. She was herself handsome in form and fair in feature; and, in the full enjoyment of all that could be desired in her sphere of life, she was as happy as a youthful wife could be. She pictured to herself a time—not now, her Serge loved her too truly now—when her husband might cast his eyes upon some blooming damsel, younger than she was then, and might begin to take a nearer interest in polygamy. She pictured him bestowing on the youthful beauty the love and tenderness which he had always bestowed on her; how his affections would die out towards her; how her heart would be desolate and alone!
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I took her hand in mine and spoke very gently to her; and when she was calmer, I talked to her more freely. We found now, as we tried to look our common enemy in the face, how strong a hold Mormonism had taken of us; and it is in this that persons unacquainted with the Saints have so greatly misjudged the wo............